


you arrest my heart (but i knew this from the start)

by canonlytrans



Category: Endless Summer (Visual Novel)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-06
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2019-05-03 03:15:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14559633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canonlytrans/pseuds/canonlytrans
Summary: Of course he asks Mike to be the best man.





	you arrest my heart (but i knew this from the start)

**Author's Note:**

> title is from "travelling by ambulance" by monarchy. please note that there are references to sex, death, etc., in the following.

“I want you to be my best man,” says Jake, clasping Taylor's hand so tightly that their knuckles are whitened. Taylor's smiling at Jake, eyes brightening with every word he speaks - hanging on his every move, completely entwined together. It's almost enough to make Mike smile, seeing Jake so happy. Seeing him like this… it's wonderful.

“Of course, Grandpa,” he says.

Jake leans over and claps him on the shoulder, a grin on his lips. “Thank you.”

And then he's looking back at Taylor, with a honeyed smile that could destroy Mike a second time if he let it. Once upon a time, he'd held that smile. Once upon a time, he'd traced his fingers across Jake’s lips. But it'd been a long time ago. Felt like a millennium had come and gone between the last time they'd touched each other without hesitation, with nothing between them except for sheets.

Mike could picture it - from the first time they'd kissed, up in the air (damn stupid, they should've kept their eyes on the sky before them and not on each other). The first time they'd pressed together beneath the sheets, and afterwards, Jake lazily tracing Mike’s form (even more stupid, they should've kept away from each other, not kissed so hungrily that they'd almost fucked in the plane, not ended up at a sleazy, un-memorable motel room, tearing clothes off the second the door closed). The first time Mike realized just how far he'd fallen for him (so fucking stupid, so much for no strings).

They were partners. It happened sometimes, especially when people were running high risk missions - two people, trusting their lives with each other, rarely a thing left unsaid, and you're bound to find some of them catching feelings. But this felt different, and it'd taken two bottles of cheap beer and a mattress with sheets coming off the corners for Mike to scream it against Jake’s skin in a too quick, sudden burst of ecstasy.

(“Why?” Jake’d asked, pulling away, like he genuinely couldn't believe that Mike could like him. Romantically.

“I - I didn't _mean_ it,” he'd said, so quickly it ached. “People yell weirder shit when they're being fucked.”

“Oh.”

“You sound…”

“It's nothing.” And then a hand had wandered between Mike’s legs, a welcomed distraction from what _was_ left unsaid.)

A long time ago. Gone, now. Only fragments of those feelings remained, sitting heavy in the air. Of _course_ he'd be Jake’s best man. Of course he was happy for him, watching his partner walk away with his hand entwined with Taylor’s.

They'd started out friends, after all - no reason they couldn't go back to that.

But he could still remember it - Jake, crying after a mission, sitting by Mike as they got patched up, and unthinkingly, their hands had reached for each other’s. No questions, no answers either, just the barest touch.

(“I love you,” he said, hours after. “I don't get it… I just _do_ , I guess. You know how.... God, this’s gonna sound weird, but you know how you can tell your grandparents are in love? That's kinda how it feels.”

And Mike had kissed him, so softly. “I love you, too, _Grandpa_.”)

Things got good… then bad, and as they worked to expose Lundgren, things had gotten desperate. Nights spent sleepless, limbs intertwined, hours spent whispering about the future, the after. They'd do it. They'd be just fine. Jake and Mike, partners, they'd be alright. The desperation threatened to pull them apart. And in the end, it had.

And here he is, watching Jake prepare to get married.

Once upon a time, he'd privately dreamt that they'd marry. Maybe, possibly. (It wouldn't have worked out, he thinks, you were only close because you had to be.)

Here he is, as Jake meets his gaze with a cocky smile, holding up a shirt or a jacket or something - “You think this looks okay?”

“It's fine,” Mike says, smiling. “You look great, Jake.” If there's a bittersweet tinge in his voice, that too gets left unmentioned. If Mike's smile doesn't reach his eyes, Jake doesn't notice. He's happy, really, _truly_. God, his best friend's getting married, for fuck’s sake, why's he reminiscing? It'll just hurt more when comes the inevitable.

Jake pulls off his shirt, and Mike's breath catches, and he turns away, ignoring the sickening feeling rising up in his stomach. 

It's not like Mike can dress up for this, what with most of his body being too injured for him to even live outside this suit. No legs, burn marks on eighty seven percent of him. He's seen the scars. He's seen his eyes, heterochromatic - something he'd wanted as a kid, mismatched eyes. Not like _this_.

“ _Mike_ , I'm really glad you're here.”

(“ _Fuck_!” he'd panted between moans, his fingers in Mike's hair. “ _Mike Darwin_ , you're gonna be the death of me.”

He'd looked up, meeting Jake’s blue eyes, half-lidded and stunning, and pulled away for a second. “Not unless I die first.”

“Not on my watch. Now get back here… _please_?”

“When you ask so _nicely_ …”)

“I am, too,” he says, turning back to face him. God, Taylor’s so damn lucky. So fucking much that it's ridiculous, almost kind of painful.

God, he's in over his head.

(“Damn, Darwin, you clean up nicely.”)

“You clean up nicely,” he says, echoing Jake’s voice in his head. Jake in a suit, or some semblance of one… it's too early for him to get that feeling in his stomach, like a black hole’s opened up and sucked out everything he's eaten over the past few days.

“I wish things were different,” says Jake. “Wish my mom was here, and Rebecca. Though… they'd probably want a big church wedding -”

(“- some kinda spectacle. God, you'd love my mom.”

Mike rested his head on Jake's chest, feeling the ceiling fan send shivers up his spine - or maybe that was Jake's hand, drifting across his back. “You'd _hate_ my mom.”

“Oh yeah?”

“She'd make Jeanine look like the goddess of sincerity. But the _real_ question is… what would _you_ want?”

“Fuck if I know. We'd probably sign a piece of paper. Nothing fancy. Maybe have dinner afterwards… my mom would drop dead if I didn't do _something_ traditional.”)

“They’re dead,” says Mike - it’s not really a question if he knows the answer, is it? “I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault, kid,” Jake says, his eyes locking with Mike’s. “Nothing we can do about it. I… your… your family’s gone, too.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know,” he says again, and then smiles. Jake’ll get his own family in Taylor, in the rest of the gang - and Mike will follow along, with nowhere else to go even _if_ he wanted to leave. Jake will have this entire island once they stop Rourke (and Lundgren), Jake will have a family, a home, everything and anything he wants.

He’ll have Mike.

Not the same. Different Jake, different Mike.

(The door had pushed open, and there stood a young man - 18 at most, light brown hair cut to regulation standards. He’d dropped his backpack on the free bed. “Name’s McKenzie. You must be my bunkmate.”

“Michael Darwin,” he said, looking up. “But everyone calls me Mike.”

“Jake.”)

“Let’s go get you married,” he said, stepping forward and putting a hand on Jake’s shoulder.

(And if anyone asks why, about 24 hours later, he’s the one who sets fire to himself to kill Lundgren… it’s not like he’s around to answer. But he’s given them time, and he’s died first twice.)


End file.
